


But Thy Eternal Winter Shall Not Fade

by Zdenka



Category: Love Like Winter - AFI (Song)
Genre: Consent Issues, F/F, First Person, Non-Permanent Character Death, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: They say if you make a wish and kiss the statue's lips, your wish will be granted.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6
Collections: Jukebox 2020





	But Thy Eternal Winter Shall Not Fade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/gifts).



> Based on the song "Love Like Winter" by AFI: [music](https://youtu.be/rsrEXwozK-Yv) and [lyrics](https://genius.com/Afi-love-like-winter-lyrics).

I met my love before I was born, on a cold winter’s evening when my breath puffed out in white smoke. I was visiting a certain place—I will not name the town or even the country; the ladies of the castle do not care for impertinent visitors.

I arrived too late at night to look around, but I could not help noticing the castle on top of the hill, one that was not in any guidebook. The next day, I found myself curious, and so I climbed up the rocky hill towards the castle. The wrought-iron gates were locked, to my disappointment. I would have to find out the visiting hours, I thought. But I could see a garden in back, and I let my feet carry me there.

The garden was not enclosed, and I entered freely. Since it was winter, the flowerbeds were bare, but I admired the paths laid out in geometric shapes. There were statues here and there, in a neo-Classical style. I recognized Persephone holding a pomegranate, and Cleopatra with an asp clasped to her lovely breast. I could not identify all of them, but I amused myself with guessing.

Once my feet grew tired, I pulled out a book from my purse and sat down on a stone bench to read, opposite a marble faun with a mischievous expression. It was warm enough in the sun to make me a little drowsy. I suppose I must have fallen asleep, though it was unlike me to fall asleep in a strange place.

When I awoke, it was evening. I blinked groggily and picked up my book which had fallen to the ground (fortunately, not wet or damaged) and hastily smoothed out my skirts. When I looked up again, a woman was standing near me. She was fairly young, between twenty and thirty, at a guess. She had dark hair that fell around her pale face, and rose-red lips. She was very beautiful. Her eyes too were dark. I felt a strange jolt as our gazes met.

I must have stammered something, perhaps an apology for disturbing her.

“No need to worry,” she said. I could not place her accent. “You have done no harm by coming here, and perhaps some good. It has been a long time since a young lady has come to visit, and I was beginning to get bored here by myself.” She seemed amused.

“And no one lives here? I suppose you must be the caretaker.”

“Oh no,” she agreed with a smile that reminded me of the faun. “No one lives here. But you may come to visit, as often as you like. I will show you around the garden and the castle.”

“It is getting late,” I said, still flustered. “I should be getting back.”

She walked with me to the front of the castle. The garden paths had many twists and turns, but she seemed to know her way through them, and brought me out again in a far shorter time than I would have managed myself. Her name, I learned, was Miranda. I gave her my own name in return, not without slight embarrassment. She seemed so very poised and self-possessed, and my mother had a romantic naming sense.

Miranda bade me farewell with a smile. I walked home, through the drifting strands of a night mist that rose around me and made the ordinary streets seem like some enchanted realm.

The next evening, as she had promised, she gave me a tour of the garden. In Miranda’s company, I discovered many odd corners and grottos I had not seen before, and more than one striking sight. But I will speak of one in particular.

Set in the midst of the bare garden was a Classical statue in marble drapery that did not hide the swell of her breasts, the curve of her thighs. Her hair was gathered up at the nape of her neck, with stray tresses escaping over her shoulders. Her face was very beautiful, like an ancient Greek goddess; Artemis, perhaps, or Aphrodite.

I swallowed. “She looks like you. Is it ancient?”

Miranda smiled carelessly. “It’s in too good condition for that.” She ran a proprietary hand over the statue’s shoulder, brushing away accumulated frost. “No, it’s a copy of a Renaissance original. The model was supposedly an ancestress of mine—and one who lived quite a scandalous life, if family history is to be believed.”

Gazing at the statue’s features, I could well believe it was made after someone in Miranda’s family tree; it was a close enough resemblance to be a portrait of Miranda herself. I found myself imagining the model, warm and living, her draperies sliding off her shoulder. Did she have Miranda’s lovely dark eyes and red mouth? Did she lower her gaze modestly, or did she meet the sculptor’s eyes as boldly as Miranda met mine?

“It seems you’re quite enamored of her,” Miranda murmured into my ear. She had moved closer without my noticing. Her voice grew teasing. “And yet, you haven’t heard the best part. They say she grants wishes.”

I looked at her. “What?” I said distractedly. She was close enough that I could see the snowflakes caught in her hair.

“Yes,” she said with a wicked look. “They say you speak your wish aloud and then kiss the statue’s lips, and she will grant it.”

To kiss the statue! The marble face, so like Miranda’s . . . I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and my breath quickened. “I—I would not know what to ask,” I stammered.

“Perhaps later, then. You will have to consider your wish.” She took my hand. “Oh, but you are shivering! You must come inside.”

She led me through the castle, and there were many marvels to see: a wealth of paintings and statues and carvings that must have taken centuries to accumulate, a room of musical instruments, graceful balconies that overlooked the gardens. There was even a grand ballroom lined with mirrors, though they were all covered with drapes.

On the ground floor was a stone archway, framing a wooden door banded with iron. Something was carved into the topmost stone, and I stepped closer to read it. _Por siempre,_ the words said. _Forever._ I had seen those words, woven into tapestries or carved into wooden screens, here and there among the castle’s rooms.

“The family’s motto?” I asked. “They must have been a house of great fidelity.”

“Or perhaps they held grudges.”

“Can you not be serious,” I chided. Miranda only laughed. Out of curiosity, I tried the door, but it was locked. “What’s down here?”

“The wine cellars,” Miranda said carelessly. “It’s kept locked to avoid accidents. The staircase is old and narrow, and it’s not well-lit. I don’t have the key with me now, but I can show it to you another time.”

I politely said that she need not, if it would be any trouble, and she led me onward.

At last she led me up a narrow winding staircase to a tower room. I was out of breath by the end, though Miranda did not seem troubled by it; she must be used to the climb. I sank gratefully into the seat she offered me—a carved wooden bench softened by piled cushions—and looked around. The walls were of stone, but lamps gave the room a friendly glow. Tapestries hung on the walls, and the windows were curtained with heavy velvet drapes against the drafts.

“This is where I stay, when I am in residence. Come, you must make yourself at home.” Miranda took a silver pitcher and silver goblet from a shelf and poured for me. The drink was cool and sweet, tasting of vanilla. Miranda seated herself across from me and drank red wine from a beautiful glass cup that was painted with hunting scenes.

I cannot remember what we talked of; my attention was more on her dark eyes, her ready smile. She was utterly charming, and somehow I lost the last of my awkwardness and spoke to her freely. I was only recalled to myself when an antique clock sounded nearby. I counted the strokes: eleven at night. I jumped up. “I had not realized it was so late. Forgive me, I must be going—”

“If you like,” Miranda said lazily. “But you must return soon.” She walked with me down to the castle door and let me out into the cool night.

I visited her every other day, and then daily. I feared to intrude, but she assured me that I was welcome. I always followed her whim, whatever it was: to look at the castle’s treasures, or sit in her tower room, or listen to her play music—for she played a variety of instruments with great skill. On one of these visits, I walked with her around the gardens until I began to shiver—for it was still winter—and she brought me inside. “I must make you warm again,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Come with me.”

I followed without hesitation, expecting she would bring me to her tower for something hot to drink. I was surprised, however, when she led me to the ballroom.

“Dance with me,” she exclaimed, with a grand gesture at the empty floor. “That will warm you well enough.”

“But we have no music,” I protested, smiling.

“I will sing for us.” She took my hand. “Let us begin!”

Miranda’s voice was even more lovely in singing than in speaking. She whirled me about the room as she sang, and I was shamefully conscious of her nearness, her hand pressing my waist and stray strands of her hair tickling my neck. Miranda changed from one melody to another as it struck her fancy: Renaissance airs, modern dance tunes, and something that I half-remembered from an opera. I was only too glad for the dance to continue forever, but at last I was tired and out of breath and I had to beg for a respite.

I sank down in a red velvet chair, adjusting my skirts about me. Miranda laughed. “You must become stronger,” she said, “and then we will be able to dance as much as we like!” She seemed as lively as ever, as if the dancing had not tired her at all. I stammered that I would like that very much, and felt my cheeks heat.

“You sing very well,” I said, trying to cover my awkwardness. “If you are not tired yet, would you sing something else?”

Miranda smiled slowly, then began to sing again, an Italian aria full of brilliant ornaments. I sat still and listened to her, leaning forward as if I could drink in her voice.

Miranda did not sit as she sang, but wandered here and there across the floor of the ballroom as it pleased her. At last she changed to a melancholy medieval air with strangely riddling words:

_“I have a young sister  
Far across the sea;  
Many are the tokens  
That she sends to me._

_“She gave me a cherry without any stone,  
She gave me a dove without any bone.  
She gave me a briar without any thorn;  
She bade me love my lady without longing.”_

She had returned to face me as she sang. She was looking at me, but I dared not think what it might mean. She finished the song, and there was a moment of silence. I looked into her dark eyes, with half-formed longing in my heart.

Suddenly Miranda laughed aloud, and I started. She held out her hand to me again. “Surely you have rested by now? I wish to have some more dancing.”

When at last I left her to return to my inn room, I wandered out through the garden, following the now-familiar path. The moon was shining brightly overhead, and I had no trouble finding my way. As I walked past the wish-granting statue, I found my steps slowing, and then I turned on my heels to gaze at her again. Her face—Miranda’s face—was so very beautiful, with its enigmatic smile. My eyes traced where a lock of hair had been carved falling over her bare shoulder.

“I wish—” I said aloud. “I wish I could stay here forever.” Before I could think better of it, I leaned in and kissed the statue, pressing my lips to her stone mouth for a long moment.

Her lips were chill and unyielding and tasted of frost. What had I expected—that she would warm under my touch like Galatea in the ancient myth? Feeling a little foolish, I stepped back and quickly looked around to make sure no one had seen. There was no one; only a bat that skimmed through the air above the statue and disappeared among the dark trees.

I dreamed of Miranda that night. I thought I was lying in my bed, only the room was thick with mist. Twining white tendrils poured in through the cracks of the closed window, making the fog thicker, until everything was covered in a wintry white haze. I did not wish to move, nor was I curious; I only thought it was very beautiful.

The mist thickened and solidified into a woman’s shape, and then Miranda was standing before me. She was dressed in a long white gown, so I could hardly see where her trailing skirts ended and the mist began.

Her red lips parted, and she spoke. “I heard you have made your wish,” she said teasingly.

It took me a moment to answer; all my senses were dazed and drowsy. “I did.”

She came closer, sitting on the bed beside me. “Ask me for a wish too,” she said smiling, “and I will grant it.”

“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Please, kiss me.”

She leaned down until her body pressed against mine, until her loose dark hair touched my cheek like a teasing caress. And then she kissed me. Her lips were cool, but soft as the statue’s had not been. She kissed me with passion, again and again, my mouth and then my throat. I wrapped my arms around her to pull her closer. Her eyes were like a dark sky full of stars; I fell into them, and then I was only hers.

I thought I would be self-conscious when I saw Miranda again, but she had a way of setting me at ease, and I could almost forget my untoward dream. I had begun visiting her every day, at her insistence. Certainly, nothing else in this town seemed as interesting or as worthwhile as spending time with her. I eagerly anticipated the sound of her voice and the strange drinks she offered me. The taste was different every time: cinnamon or lemon or chocolate with a hint of smokiness, bitter or salty-sweet.

I dared not kiss the statue again, but Miranda kissed me every night in my dreams.

That day—the day everything changed—Miranda was dressed in a gown with layers of white lace and trailing sleeves. She led me up to her tower room; I had been feeling under the weather lately, and I was dizzy and breathless by the time we reached the top. I was glad to sit down on an embroidered couch among the cushions. Miranda pressed a silver cup into my hands; I drank without asking what it was, for I was very thirsty. It tasted rich and sweet, and I licked the last drops of it from my lips.

Miranda was smiling at me with her red lips. I barely knew what answers I gave her; I was caught in her eyes, the curve of her jaw, the glimpses of her pale wrists among the lace.

My own hand trembled as I set the cup down on a side table. Belatedly I realized that Miranda’s hands were empty, without her usual glass of wine. “But you have had nothing,” I said with an effort.

“You are right,” Miranda said, with her charming smile. “It is only right for me to drink as well—when the taste is so tempting.” She came over to me and kissed me, as sweet and passionate as she had been in my dreams. I returned her kisses eagerly; I only wished I was not so dizzy.

She pressed me backwards on the couch with surprising strength, and the length of her body was over me. The white lace of her skirts fell around me. I might have protested, but then she was kissing me again, and I only wished her never to stop.

Her cool lips moved down to my throat; I sighed and arched against her touch. There was pain, very brief, and then she was lapping at my throat. Pleasure swelled over me like a slow wave. I half-raised one hand, I do not know if it was to hold her close or push her away, but I was too weak, and I let my hand fall again. I could not tell how much time passed while she drank eagerly from my throat, as if it was the sweetest of wine.

When at last she pulled back, there was blood on her red lips. I could feel it tricking warm and wet against my throat. I whispered her name.

“Do not worry, dearest,” she murmured. “I will take very good care of you, and soon you will be well.” She lifted me effortlessly in her arms and carried me down the spiral staircase, the layers of white lace trailing after like sea-foam. As we went down, she sang in her rich, beautiful voice: “ _When the cherry is a blossom, then hath it no stone. When the dove is in the egg, then hath it no bone. When the briar is a seed, then hath it no thorn. When the maiden hath her desire . . .”_

We reached the bottom of the stairs, where the closed door was, but it opened at her touch and we went down further, as far down as we had gone up. Downward she carried me, into the darkness of her family’s vaults. It was much colder there. I could feel her slipping off my clothing, and I made a noise of protest.

“Hush, darling,” she murmured. “You must be born naked. You will feel well in a little while.” She kissed me, slowly and lingeringly; I tasted blood in her mouth and leaned closer, eager for more. But I was too weak, and my head fell back. She kissed my hair, my lips, my throat. Then she laid me down in a bed of soft earth and covered me.

I do not know how long I lay there, like a seed in darkness. But when I had slept long enough, she called me and I awoke, shaking the grave-dirt from my bare shoulders. I was born as one of the People, beautiful and immortal and strong.

I was still weak and dizzy at first, but she poured me a glass of rich red wine, which I knew now was mixed with blood. Then she showed me how to drink from her throat with my new fangs; I trembled, but she held me, and I drank until I felt strong again.

She gave me a gown of rich blue and green—like a flower, she said, risen from the earth. Then she took me by the hand and led me into the grand ballroom. She tore down the coverings from the mirrors and lit the candles, until the room was ablaze with light. The mirrors reflected the candlelight back and forth into sparkling glory, but never a glimpse of the two of us. We danced and we danced until dawn, and then she led me back down to the vault. This time we were together, the soft earth under us. She held me close, as I wished, and I slept dreamlessly in her arms.

That is how I came here, to this castle that now has two masters. She kisses my lips and leads me out under the winter sky, where the cold stars shine far above us. We hunt together like two falcons and drink the rich, red blood until we are satisfied.

We walk hand in hand through the garden, between stick-bare hedges and empty flowerbeds where the flowers still sleep; no breath puffs out in the air, and neither hand is colder than the other. When she catches me looking at her statue, she smiles and says she will have one made of me to match it. But there is no lack of time. Neither her beauty nor mine will fade; it is like the cherry blossom caught in ice, and when the spring finally comes to awaken the flowers, the sun will not melt it.

When she kisses me, I taste all the years we will have together. I have no regrets, for she is mine and I am hers. _When the maiden hath her desire, she is without longing._

**Author's Note:**

>  _I have a young sister / Far across the sea ... When the cherry is a blossom, then hath it no stone:_ These lyrics are from an anonymous medieval song, slightly adapted.
> 
> The title is a line from Shakespeare's Sonnet 18, changed to winter instead of summer.


End file.
